Mayhem in the Attic
by Got Tea
Summary: CSI Forever Online Challenge A routine investigation goes haywire.
1. Part One

CSI Forever Online April Challenge

Topic: GSR at a crime scene

Prompts: a length of rope, a chicken, a stun gun, a deck of cards, fireworks, a broken mirror, a dead rat and cyanide.

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Gil climbed back up the stairs to the attic, having concluded his perimeter inspection and decided there was nothing probative either downstairs or outside the property, and that he would be of far more use helping Sara sift through the mountains of personal effects belonging to the man in Doc Robbins morgue. Approaching his destination he heard hysterical laughter, and paused, momentarily confused.

"Sara," he called, resuming his climb. He received no answer and frowned, reaching the summit and turning into the long, high ceilinged room. Windows ran down the western length and were prominent at the northern end; the views were beautiful, all rugged desert and mountains, dotted with scrubby trees and spiky plants. The real beauty of the room though was the oak beams, rising high above his head, and running the entire length of the building.

The same frenzied laughter caught his attention again, redirecting his focus to the woman who continually fascinated and stirred within him feelings he would never be able to quantify accurately with words.

"Sara," he repeated softly, but she didn't hear him. He approached, and felt uneasiness take root deep inside. She was seated on the floor, legs crossed in a tailor seat as she surveyed the deck of tarot cards spread out before her. Beyond the cards perched a chicken, its head cocked to the side as it studied her. In between bouts of mirth, she was talking to the chicken and gesticulating wildly, her words spoken so fast they ran together in an incomprehensible stream.

"Sara," he called again, raising his voice. She whirled and tried to stand at the same time; her movements so fast she tripped over her own feet and tumbled aside, crashing into a wall mirror. Slumped on the floor she raised her hands in delight as shards rained down around her.

"It's snowing," she cried in delight. "It's snowing in the desert Grissom!" She scrambled to her feet, twirling around like a school girl. Suddenly she let out a shriek, pointing behind him as she leapt backwards behind a crate. If he hadn't been so concerned by her behaviour, he would have been impressed by the sheer physicality of her movement. As it was, he was torn between going to her and investigating the cause of her distress.

Before he had the chance to make his mind up however, she had dashed out from behind the box and over to the wall behind him, moving with such speed he felt a wave of dizziness pass over him. Another shriek, followed by more incessant giggling as she pulled something toward her, and then brandished a dead rat by its tail, swinging it back and forth in front of him.

"Wow Grissom, do you see the shadow? It moves with the rat, like an aura! Can dead things have an aura? Maybe it isn't dead! It could just be stunned." She held the rat up to her ear, listening as though she might hear it breathing. "Nope," she sang, shaking her head, "not breathing." Her fingers groped for the neck, searching for a pulse. "No pulse, quick, call an ambulance. We need paramedics to resuscitate the rat; he might be able to tell us what happened." Abruptly she sank to her knees and placed the rat on the ground on its back; using two fingers she began rhythmic compressions of the chest, as though trying CPR.

"Sara, what are you doing? Are you feeling alright?" asked Grissom, who felt his chest go tight with concern. Sara had been fine earlier when he left her to go down and walk the perimeter, and she had been more than fine when they woke up that evening. They both had.

"I'm saving the rat Grissom," she explained seriously, glancing up at him and flashing him one of her dazzling smiles. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a length of rope dangling from the roof, tied high above them to one of the beams. He head snapped to the side to investigate. Abruptly her focus shifted; the rat forgotten she lunged for the rope, throwing herself forward and reaching out with both hands.

"No, Sara stop," cried Gil, frantically.

TBC


	2. Part Two

Grissom stood rooted to the spot, frozen in horror as he watched Sara swing back and forth on the rope, squealing with glee. His heart thudded in his chest as she came perilously close to an expanse of window. Suddenly, at the end of one long swinging arc, she let go, flying through the air with her arms stretched out to the side.

A gasp escaped his lips, and he felt a flash of fear squeeze his lungs. Sara laughed and cheered, completely oblivious to his consternation as she landed on her feet with a gentle thud. Grissom lunged forward, desperate to catch and retrain her, but she was off running again, zooming down the length of the room with speed she usually reserved only for chasing after the dog. Stumbling slightly, he thrust his hands out and caught himself on a small refrigerator. It was warm to the touch, and out of habit he opened it cautiously to check the inside, wondering if there was anything in there Sara might have had a reaction to. He felt his stomach lurch as his eyes registered bottles of liquid Hydrogen cyanide. Boiling point seventy nine degrees Fahrenheit, he thought, quickly shutting the door and looking for Sara again.

"Sara, we should go," he said firmly, walking steadily toward her, avoiding sudden movements.

"Look," she grinned, waving a stun gun at him. "Our victim was a very naughty boy." He recoiled slightly in alarm.

"Put that down Sara, please," he implored.

"But look," she smiled, holding the weapon out and touching a jagged piece of broken mirror to the contact points. When she pressed the trigger light flashed in multiple directions, reflecting from the burst of electrical output.

"Very nice," he agreed, "Now, can you please put that thing down?"

"Ok," she shrugged, letting her arm fall. The mirror shard clattered to the floor; the stun gun wasn't so lucky. Already forgotten as her mind raced on to the next object she had caught sight of, Sara let her hand fall to rest at her side. Her finger was still resting on the trigger, and when the contact points jabbed into her thigh she let out a bellow that made his ears ring as her leg buckled underneath the shock.

Gil lurched, scrambled and seized the stun gun before turning back to Sara. She was sitting on the floor, one leg twisted underneath her, twitching madly. Her attention was elsewhere however; boxes of fireworks were spread open against the wall. Their victim had evidently been in the process of wiring them together sometime before he was found dead behind the Bellagio. He had also been smoking during the process; a fact that both Gil and Sara noticed at the same time.

"No," roared Gil as she seized the lighter and flipped it open, producing a brilliant orange flame. Tossing the stun gun aside, he threw himself at her, grappling for control. Sara struggled madly; Gil grabbed her arm and tried to pry her fingers open. She wrenched her arm away and pitched backwards, dropping the lighter, which tumbled down among the fireworks.

Gil didn't think, he just wrapped both arms around Sara's waist and hauled her up. She tried to smack him away as he threw her over his shoulder; he caught her hand and fumbled for a pressure point there as he sprinted for the stairs. She yelped in pain and went still; he dug his thumb into her skin as he reached the attic entrance and began the long descent, desperately hoping not to fall. He reached the front door just as the first of the fireworks caught.

TBA


	3. Part Three

It was dark outside. The moon and stars lit up the landscape, casting shadows and silhouettes in the rural desert, but the sky remained a dark bluish-black of velveteen depths. Crackling pops and booming explosions resonated through the house as Gil stumbled out onto the packed dirt driveway. The property was fenceless, and the nearest neighbor a mile away this far out from the city. He slid Sara off his shoulder and back onto her feet, keeping a death grip on her hand. Using his free arm he pointed to a stand of trees several hundred yards away.

"Race me," he challenged, already running and pulling her along. As hyped up as she was, and suddenly pain free when he put her down, Sara zeroed in on the new challenge and took off, dragging Gil with her. He gasped for air, stumbling as he struggled to keep up with her. They were almost there when a colossal blast behind them knocked them off their feet and threw them bodily some fifteen feet through the air. They slammed unceremoniously into the ground, winded, bruised and covered in debris.

Sara rolled onto her back and blew out a hard breath, staring up into the sky in awe. The house, what was left of it, was burning ferociously; the sky was a riot of color as the fireworks not consumed in the blast detonated simultaneously. Coughing out a lungful of soot, Grissom peeled open his eyes to the glorious sight. His lungs burning with the effort of carrying Sara, and then racing with her, he sucked in deep gasping breaths, clutching his chest as the pain subsided.

Finally able to breathe, he rolled to face Sara and groaned in desperation. She was already off and running again. Hearing the approach of tires, he looked around and saw one of the two squad cars that had met them at the scene earlier approaching quickly. Officer Milo Hendon leapt out almost before the vehicle came to a stop.

"Doctor Grissom, are you alright?" he demanded. He looked around frantically. "Where's Miss Sidle?"

"She's over there; she's been exposed to something, I think she's high. Please can you catch her for me? I'll call for back up and an ambulance."

"Sure," agreed Milo, trotting off in Sara's direction.

"Be careful," called Grissom, struggling to his feet. "She's trained in martial arts, and she's most definitely not herself." The officer waved to acknowledge him, and kept moving. Grissom tottered over to the squad car and slid into the passenger seat, picking up the radio to call dispatch, requesting firefighters, an ambulance and hazmat just in case there were more chemicals on the property that hadn't yet been discovered.

Milo returned with Sara before the ambulance arrived. He was a young man, with broad shoulders, solid muscles and a good five inches on Sara's own five foot ten, but even he was struggling to restrain her in her incapacitated, physically hyperactive state. Grissom approached carefully, studying her.

He noted her pupils were dilated, skin flushed, breathing rapid and the way her muscles twitched continually. She struggled madly against Hendon's grip, eyes faraway and unseeing. She muttered a constant incomprehensible stream of words, infuriated with her captivity.

"She's burning up," said Hendon, concerned.

"She's definitely high on something," nodded Grissom. "Do you know if the victim had any priors for drug use? That could help us establish what she came in contact with."

"No sir, I'm sorry. I was only assigned to this case tonight; I came on shift and got sent straight out here without getting the details. The department's shorthanded at the moment; the flu seems to be making the rounds." Grissom nodded his understanding, and was about to suggest they put Sara in the car when she let out a roar that startled them both, and tore her way out of Milo's grip. She was off running again before either of them could so much as move a toe; she barreled down the drive, howling at the stars.

"Get the car," yelped Milo, sprinting after her.

…

It was half an hour, two squad cars and a lot of running later before they caught Sara, nearly four miles down the road. She slumped against a rock as paramedics approached; by the time they reached her she was unresponsive and easily loaded onto the stretcher. Grissom slithered in next to her, exhausted and aching all over. They were taken to the nearest hospital, a twenty-five minute journey from the scene, which was a further two hours from Vegas, and admitted for observation.

Tests concluded Sara had inhaled powdered methamphetamine, and as a result developed tachycardia and delusions, which would resolve as the drug left her system. They had both sustained various small abrasions and contusions caused by the blast, as well as a slight amount of smoke inhalation.

Grissom lay on his side, watching Sara as she slept soundly in the bed next to his. The doctor had given her something to help get the drug out of her system, and aside from the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, she could have been in bed at home with him. Idly he wondered how much she would remember of the evening, and for a moment he grinned in amusement. Now that it was over, and he had been assured they would both be fine, a little bruised, battered and tired, but otherwise unscathed, he could look back and laugh at Sara's complete loss of control. Closing his eyes he let himself slide into dreams full of a multitude of iridescent colors and talking rats.

…

Brass barreled into the break room at CSI where Catherine, Nick and Greg were eating dinner.

"Who's the least busy?" he demanded by way of greeting.

"Greg," said Catherine, pointing. "Nick and I are on a hot case, he just wrapped his."

"Great, grab an overnight bag, you can eat in the car. I'll drive."

"What's going on Jim?" asked Catherine, taking a sip of coffee. Brass sighed.

"Grissom and Sara just blew up their crime scene."

"What?" yelled three voices. "Are they ok?"

"They will be; doc admitted them for observation. Nothing's broken, just bruised, and Sara's high on something." He turned back to Greg, "Let's go, HAZMAT will meet us there."

"Sara high?" laughed Nick.

"I'd pay to see that," snorted Catherine.

…

Sara opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't. She uttered a pathetic groan and pressed her forearm across her face, trying desperately to block out the light. Gentle hands brushed her brow and peeled away her arm, laying a cool, damp cloth in its place. She lay there for what felt like an eternity as the cloth slowly warmed and the buzzing clouds in her head gradually cleared, leaving behind a dull, persistent headache.

Peeling away the cloth she squinted to see who her caretaker was, her eyes opening barely more than enough to let in the tiniest sliver of light.

"Who's there?" she croaked, her throat burning.

"It's me," murmured a voice that was familiar, yet as gravelly as her own.

"Grissom," she mumbled as he moved into her line of sight. "What happened?"

"Methamphetamine," he replied, taking the cloth and rinsing it in cold water before reapplying it for her. She gaped at him, and he could see her mind turning over, thinking.

"You ok?" she asked finally.

"I'm fine," he answered, smiling. "You will be too, once the drugs are out of your system and the aftereffects dissipate." He stroked her cheek, letting her know they were alone. "The doctor will let us loose in a few hours and we'll go home." She hummed agreement and closed her eyes.

TBC

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Conclusion to follow soon with some fluffy GSR

Happy reading, please R&R

Got Tea?


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